


The 10 Stages to Obsession

by BOE_4eva



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M, Obsession, One-Sided Relationship, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BOE_4eva/pseuds/BOE_4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gradual change in Nino's relationship with Ohno from his perspective, and how it twisted into an obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 10 Stages to Obsession

**The 10 Stages to Obsession**

**Association,** that’s how it started. That’s how it always starts. We were put together, not by our own choice, but by someone else’s. I hadn’t known him, and wasn’t aware I would ever be spending as much time with him as I had. Because of this time, our association soon developed into a  **friendship.**

**Friendship**  that was anything but trivial, one that was special in a way neither of us had experienced before. We were always together, even when it didn’t involve our job, it became more out of habit, not of obligation. And the more I got to know him, the more I realized how much talent, how much wonder and how much beauty he truly possessed. This is when it became  **admiration.**

**Admiration**  is something most people have for parents, brothers or sisters and maybe seniors. He was not a member of my family, and our age difference was minimal. But I still managed to gain a strong sense of admiration for him, one that was different to those in the Johnny’s Jrs, who looked up to him like he was a performance god, and stared at him like he was sex on legs. The last of which I somehow contracted from them, like some kind of contagious and deadly disease, as my feelings were suddenly overcome by a tremendous amount of  **lust.**

**Lust** … how did it turn to lust so fast, I would ask myself, everyday. But I could never give myself a straight answer, without my mind wandering to the reason  _why_  he was sex on legs… which often led to sleepless nights, and homo-erotic thought plagued dreams. Lust, may have been the quickest transition, but it certainly wasn’t the easiest. Lust was the hardest emotion to control. I would often find myself touching him, in the most inconvenient of times, without even noticing myself (Of course, it didn’t help that he did  _nothing_  to stop it). It was ok when it occurred on stage, as I could easily write it off as fan-service and nothing more would be thought of it, but when it started happening in private... This is where it became a problem, I was running out of excuses, and my advances were becoming blatantly obvious. I had to take control, so with all my willpower I whipped my hormones in to shape, and drove them off with wooden stake, and a few lunches with his mother. And thanks to that wonderful woman, the lust backed down in to a small corner (for now), and gave birth, to something I would find to be far more deadly… a true  **affection.**

 

 **Affection** is not a word I would use often, if ever. I don’t believe I’ve ever truly felt it, the way it is intended, unless I were to consider what I felt for my grandparent as affection. But this was different. In the end it was a way of hiding much more. I’d thought I’d convinced myself, that the  _lust_  stage was just my mind playing tricks on me…. ‘ _I wasn’t_ gay _!’_ So why did I feel so sick whenever I saw him talking to anyone but me, when I saw him smiling at anyone but me…. When I saw him touching anyone but me? Why did I want to break off anyone’s hand that threatened to come in contact with him? Why did I feel jealousy boil up inside me when even my friends got close to him? Why was it so painful? Again, so many questions that at the time I couldn’t answer. But thanks to a lot of teen movies and dramas, I felt I could answer some of the questions, but in a way I could only really describe as…  ** _‘like’_  like.**

**_‘Like’_ like**; a term used by American teens, so I’m told. Where the feelings are understood as an emotion  _above_  friendship passed the confusion. I was finally content with the fact that,  _yes_ , I was gay! And,  _yes_ , I did have a ‘thing’ for my Leader. A  _thing_  that I was soon informed, by a  _certain_ friend of mine by the name of Mr. Sho Sakurai, after giving a long winded description of my current and past feelings, without mentioning names, that I shouldn’t worry, and I was given the definition of a  **crush**.

 

 **Crush** , yes that’s right, I must be a thirteen year old again, with a crush on their eighth grade Phys Ed teacher. The irony, of it only just becoming a crush, after having known him for almost seven years, was a reality check for me, as that was when I realised how truly slow and inexperienced I was at this sort of thing. For a while, I remained like this, bringing him up in irrelevant conversations, just so I could say his name, thinking about him when he wasn’t around and clinging to him when he was. I think this is where Sho figured it out, quick as a whip that kid, he even up and confronted me about it.  _‘You like him don’t you?’_  He says. Like he expects me to nod sadly and submit to him. But I don’t, I glare, stomp on his foot, and storm away like a troubled child. But that just made it worse apparently. Sho then went out of his way to put me in situations with  _him_ , now Sho would bring up  _his_  name in conversation, almost forcing me to jump around it. It began to get awkward. So I gave in, in a less than calm manner I told him that  _‘yes I do like him!’_  Then it surprised me, things got easier. I had someone to talk to about it, someone to help me understand the things I didn’t, someone to help me accidentally develop the crush into  **puppy love.**

 

 **Puppy love,** is a term, that I’m not entirely sure of its meaning, but I’m definately familiar with it. As it was one Sho would use a lot, always referring to my newer stronger feelings as puppy love. I was becoming far more dependent on my drawn out thoughts of him, that I was even becoming just as spacey as he was. Sho would scold me for it, a lot. Now there were two people falling completely silent during interviews, whether or not it was for different reasons. It became so hard! Every second word that wanted to leap out of my mouth was something relating to  _him_. I needed to be paying full attention at every waking moment, or at least every moment that I could potentially say something that would incriminate me into the depths of the underworld. But it was hard when all I could think about was how well those pants sat on his legs and really brought out his ass, and how it would feel if I was only to… this is where my thoughts would be cut off. My expression would have been spacey, and sho would have hit me, a quick reminder that such thoughts are for my private time, and not business hours. I spent a long time, with Sho’s constant nagging in one ear, and my inner hentai screaming in the other. Now, I will admit, that while under the control of almost complete and utter addiction to him, the lust that I thought I had managed to beat away decided it was about high time, it made itself useful again, of course it seemed to show itself best while under the influence of alcohol or largely unhealthy amounts of coffee. At these times, I have done things that the next day, or mere moments later I am not entirely proud of. And each and every time something would happen, something most people wouldn’t be able to just blow away, he would. We would speak about it briefly, in some of the most mature conversations I have had in my life, and it would be forgiven, and forgotten, and we would move on. We were still friends, if anything our relationship always came out better. I think that’s why it became  **love.**

 

 **Love,** I should have expected it, but in truth, I didn’t. Love hit me like a ton of bricks weighted down by 50 million cupids on crack. I had  _never_  felt that strongly for a person in my life, every moment we spent together I felt I should memorize, so I could play it back over in my mind when he was gone. His walk, his voice, and his scent became the strongest form of aphrodisiac to me. If he were to leave the room, I would lose all train of thought and body function as my eyes slipped to him while he walked. I can’t tell you how many times I was too busy listening to the beautiful changes in tone when he spoke, that I didn’t actually pay mind to the words he was saying. The best however was his scent, no, not cologne, but his natural scent, the arousal it would awaken in me was painful to say the least, and lead to quite a few awkward pauses and excuses to leave the room, on my part. Whenever he was seated next to me, or near me... or even on the other side of the tour bus, I would find a way to smell him, I wasn’t even subtle about it, leaning over so I could breathe in his hair.  _‘I like your shampoo’_ I would say, he would smile. Oh god, the smile. I would live a million lifetimes game-free if I could only hold on to the smile for a moment longer, if I could only have him smile like that when he’s laying on his back covered in a thin layer of sweat while his hands caress... his  _hands_.... I can’t even begin to explain my love of his hands, I could think about his hands all day, long thin fingers, almost specifically crafted for an artist, with long perfectly shaped nails, that give the illusion of a female. But no, not even a female could pull them off the way he does. These thoughts, these are where the lines got blurred, where I didn’t realise my love, had turned to  **obsession.**

**Obsession** , is easily the most difficult to deal with. There was a constant weight on my shoulders, wondering,  _‘I wonder what he’s doing now’_  Followed soon by...  _‘Would he mind if I came over’..._ or . _.. ‘I hope he’s not with anyone else’_. If I wasn’t with him, no-one was allowed to be. I was running out of reasons for my  _‘Where’s Leader?’_ questions. This was beyond, watching him walk, treasuring his voice and sniffing him like an addictive drug. I actually stole his shirt at the end of a concert, I stole it, not so I could wear it, not so I could laugh at him when he realised it was missing, no, so I could keep it under my pillow, and pull it out whenever he wasn’t there. Take it out and stare at it, or hold it to my face and breathe in. In an extremely trivial way, it was like having him there with me at all times, and when I would sleep, it would bring the most wonderful dreams of exuberance and fantastic release, most that would turn out to be semi-true in the morning.

 

I hated myself for loving him so much that it hurt, so much that I knew  **I**  would hurt, just to be in his arms. Arms that I knew deep down didn’t belong to me, despite how much I despised the thought. The thought that he wasn’t mine to control, that he was allowed to do as he pleases, be with whom he wanted, and that would never change. Nor would I want it to, as a bird trapped in a cage isn’t nearly as beautiful as if it were free.   


 


End file.
